Christmas in the ER

At 3 a.m. Christmas morning, I woke up with a severe case of nausea that quickly turned to vomiting and other unpleasantries. I will spare you the gruesome details, but the long story short is that around the time we were supposed to be leaving for my parents’ house to enjoy a hearty breakfast and open presents, Zack and my bedraggled self were on our way to the Stanford ER. I was so wiped out that I could barely open my eyes, let alone answer and endure the nauseatingly repetitive questions and processes associated with ER visits: “So, what brought you to the ER today?” “What time did the nausea begin?” “How many bowel movements have you had in the past 24 hours? What do they look like?” In the ER they have no shame. My favorite was, “Let me examine you,” which involved firmly pressing on my stomach, always a good idea for someone complaining of incessant nausea, vomiting, and abdominal pain.

Seven hours, two liters of fluid, and one IV dose of Zofran (an anti-nausea med) later, I was discharged under the assumption that my symptoms were likely due to food poisoning.  I was still able to go home to my family and relatives and enjoy Christmas dinner (though mine was Top Ramen) and the present-unwrapping experience (I sat in the recliner while all my gifts were brought to me). My sister proclaimed that the day had gone from the worst Christmas ever to the best Christmas ever, and we all agreed and looked forward to an uneventful rest of the week.

Little did we know that my symptoms were not from food poisoning, but from a viral infection. This soon became apparent when 6 out of 7 of the rest of my family members woke up in the middle of the night with the exact same symptoms. Let’s just say the bathroom was a popular spot that night. Everyone spent the next day fairly miserable, watching movies and shuddering at the sight or smell of food. Everyone, that is, except my dad, who came home announcing he still didn’t feel well and then promptly asked, “Do we have any Doritos?” He has a strong stomach.

Zack and I still aren’t feeling very well, and I had to go back to the ER a couple days later for persistent symptoms and dehydration. It’s difficult not to feel resentful and bitter about the whole situation, especially since all this happened during Christmas while my sister and relatives were visiting from Seattle and Wyoming, but I’m still grateful we got to spend time together. We kept praying that I wouldn’t have to be admitted, and I wasn’t. Though it may take a little time, I’m sure this Christmas will be one of those we remember and laugh about for years to come. I foresee plenty of vomiting jokes.